


Autumn Leaves

by mariuspondmercy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:34:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8372446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariuspondmercy/pseuds/mariuspondmercy
Summary: For Feuilly, autumn had always had a special meaning. That's no different as an adult.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally for Feuilly week but real life got in the way so it's roughly a day too late. But still, I made it! Enjoy :)

Autumn was a complicated matter altogether. Once his favourite season, it had now become quite a danger to him. As a child, Feuilly remembered, he and the other children used to collect the most colourful and pristine leaves to decorate their meagre lodgings at the orphanage. There had not been any way to fasten the leaves to the walls, so the children tended to keep them under their pillows, telling stories of fairies and woodland creatures.

As a child, it was glorious to see the city basked in the soft crimson of the setting sun. Even now he couldn’t deny the beauty that was the erect Eiffel Tower, proud and tall against the dying of the light. They would huddle together, back in the day, at the orphanage. Twelve, twenty children around a single candle, telling stories of their families - if they remembered them.

“When my mother comes to pick me up”, they would say, “you will come live with me. We will be brothers and sisters forever.”

Of course no mother ever came to claim their child. But the illusion, oh, the hope on dark, stormy autumn nights was high. At night, laying close together in too few beds for too many children, you could hear the younger ones crying. Such talks always left a bitter aftertaste.

Autumns had always been beautiful to Feuilly, more so than the beginning of life in spring or the heat of summer. He shouldn’t have liked autumn. The damp cold crept through every creak and crack, through thin walls and broken windows. All around him children were coughing, sneezing, shivering. Autumn meant more blood than any other season. Even winter was kinder. Colder, quicker. The weak who had conquered autumn were winter’s victims.

Years later, autumn was still the fellest, foulest, ferocious of them all. And years later, autumn was still the most stunning, staggering, spectacular of them all.

Autumn meant less work. Who wanted to buy fans when there was no heat to beat? Besides, the dampness often ruined the fragile paper, caused the wooden frames to swell up. So Feuilly prepared. In summer, he prepared for winter by working hard - three different occupations at times. Down at the docks, as a carpenter and a fan maker. In autumn, he prepared for winter. Making sure his windows were repaired, that he had enough wood to get him through most of the cold season. Autumn going on winter was a lovely time. He got to sit down at home and design new fans for spring and summer. Of course, Feuilly still worked at the docks and sold matches in the street, but he had the evenings off. More times for himself, more meetings he could join at the Musain. More laughter of friends, more soft smiles, more hugs and warm drinks.

In spring going on summer, Feuilly had bought candles from a friendly candle maker - cheaper than buying them in winter. He had collected and dried enough firewood and now lived off a small bundle each day. Last winter had been mild so his bundle was a little bigger now. Unfortunately, one of the bundles had been stored improperly, had gotten damp. It was of no use to him anymore. What to do? Either take a few twigs and logs and branches out of the other bundles and be slightly cold for days or be cold an entire day. Feuilly had decided on the latter after discussing the issue with a friend of his. Said friend had invited him to spend the night so he wouldn’t further his cold. Reluctantly, Feuilly had agreed. Mostly because the cold was on the verge of getting worse rather than better. Cold lodgings were the last thing he needed right now.

At 4:30pm, when the sunlight didn’t offer enough brightness to keep working on new designs, Feuilly considered getting out a candle of his. But a wild coughing fit, probably stemming from spending the early morning at the Docks and the afternoon in his cold flat, convinced him to grab his scarf and make his way to his friend’s place.

On the way to Bahorel Feuilly stopped at a small bakery whose owners he knew well. After a chat and with two small pastries, Feuilly bid his friends goodbye. He knew Bahorel would chide him for buying the goods but they had looked simply delicious - and there was no way Feuilly wouldn’t thank his friend for letting him sleep at his place. With a small spring in his step, Feuilly made his way to Bahorel’s lodgings.

After a curd knock at Bahorel’s door, Feuilly entered the spacious room only to find it empty. He set down the pastries on the desk and discovered a hastily written note:

_Feuilly,_

_Shall you arrive before me, please light the fire. There is bread and cheese. Should you be hungry, please eat some. I am running errands but will hopefully not keep you waiting for long._

_Kisses,  
Bahorel_

Feuilly smiled softly and pocketed the letter. He liked those small keepsakes from his friends. At home, Feuilly kept a wooden box in a drawer with notes from Bahorel, a sketch Grantaire had once given him, a particularly pretty pebble - courtesy of Combeferre, his cockade, and other things his friends had given him. No matter how small, every gesture counted.

With the fire burning away, Feuilly grabbed Bahorel’s sheets and wrapped himself into them. He knew his friend didn’t mind. Just a few minutes later, the door opened and Bahorel stepped in. With him, he invited the scent of damp leaves, hot chestnuts and freshly baked bread.

“Feuilly, you’re here.”

Feuilly couldn’t help but hear the affection in Bahorel’s voice. It was nice, like honey in hot milk. He felt incredibly comfortable in Bahorel’s vicinity and if he were not so used to living on his own, if he were better at asking, he might even imagine a life in which he could share a room with his good friend. They could share the rent, share the table, share their lives. But even if such an idea would cross Feuilly’s mind, he wouldn’t be able to afford half the rent of Bahorel’s lodgings as his friend was far richer and lived far more comfortable than Feuilly could even dream of.

“Have you been waiting for long?”

“No, I only just arrived. Did your errands go well?”

“Yes, it all went splendid. I went to the barber, too. He tried a new technique which he acquired on his latest trip to Milan. My skin is twice as smooth now.”

Bahorel sat down next to Feuilly, inviting him to feel his cheeks. Carefully, Feuilly ran his fingertips over the soft skin. It wasn’t unusual for his heart to stop beating upon being so close to Bahorel. He wondered if it was because a man shouldn’t be as close to another man as Bahorel was to Feuilly. It was simply wrong. Yet Feuilly knew that plenty of men sought out the company of other men – indeed, some of his closer friends wallowed in such vices. So maybe it wasn’t the act itself that was wrong but society’s perception of it. That was often the case, as Feuilly knew.

“Very smooth. I am impressed.” Feuilly smiled softly.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Of your bread and cheese? No.”

“Have you eaten today?”

“I had some bread this morning.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing else,” Feuilly confirmed.

“Then it’s a good thing I just bought fresh bread. It’s still warm. Would you make some tea, please? I will get the cheese.”

“Of course.” Feuilly quickly readied some tea and poured it into the mugs, joining Bahorel at the table. “I also bought pastries. We can share them by the fire, after bread and cheese?”

“That is lovely and so thoughtful, thank you.”

In comfortable company, Bahorel and Feuilly shared the drink and food between them, chatting away merrily. They indulged in some wine and a game of cards, or two. They went to bed early, Feuilly having to get up in the morning for work at the docks. Bahorel agreed to join him in bed and sleep already, even though he had no obligations that early in the morning. He feared keeping his friend up when still awake. With the candle blown out and sharing Bahorel’s impossibly thick and warm blanket, Feuilly couldn’t help but notice some sort of uneasiness seeping off his friend. Was he maybe more uncomfortable sharing a bed than he had admitted?

“What is on your mind, my friend?” Feuilly whispered into the dark.

Bahorel stayed quiet for a while, until: “You will not judge me, whatever I tell you?”

Taken aback, Feuilly quickly gathered himself and shook his head. “I never will.”

“How do you… what-what do you think about Grantaire’s… condition?”

“Which do you mean? The alcoholism, the melancholia, or the… sodomy?”

Feuilly felt his heart beat faster, felt his hands starting to sweat. Could it be? But Bahorel had his mistress. He had never displayed any sort of interest towards gentlemen.

“His affections towards Enjolras,” Bahorel answered.

What he’d say now counted immensely. If Bahorel was against such behaviour, Feuilly wouldn’t want to seem too supportive. If he was in favour, Feuilly didn’t want his friend to feel as if he was shunning him and his kin.

“I believe,” Feuilly began, “that Enjolras assembled a group of people around him who want to be free. Freedom means different things for different people. For some it might mean to love whomever they want, for some to travel without the shackles society thrusts upon them. It is not my place to speak against anyone’s personal freedom as long as no danger comes with it.”

“Would you… Does sodomy engender society?”

“Logically speaking, it doesn’t. How would the love between two people endanger an entire society? The Bible says a man shouldn’t lie with a man as with a woman. But that was aeons ago.”

“Grantaire explained that to me,” Bahorel mumbled. “It means that one should not treat an equal as a submissive. A man is a man’s equal, so you should never treat a man like you treat a woman, who is not on par with a man.”

“Have you ever considered indulging? Like… like Grantaire?”

“Uhm…” Bahorel sighed softly. “You promise not to judge?”

“I told you, I will never judge you.” In the darkness, Feuilly carefully searched for Bahorel’s hand to squeeze it softly.

“I have indulged with Grantaire.”

“Oh.” Feuilly didn’t quite understand why his stomach just dropped. “So, are you and Grantaire…?”

“We’re not. There is another who has caught my attention.”

“Is that so?” The feelings settling inside of Feuilly wasn’t a good one. If it were Grantaire – at least he’d know Bahorel’s heart was in good hands. But with some unknown? There was too much uncertainty. Maybe that man only played with Bahorel. Maybe he wanted to out him. It could be really dangerous. “Do you…”

“Love him?”

“No, trust him.”

“I do, I really do. He is a good man. The very best.” The smile in Bahorel’s voice was painfully evident.

“Do you… Would you like to tell me about him? You’d tell me about a woman, you can tell me about a man, too. If you would like to, that is.”

“Are you sure? I would… it-it would be the first time to talk about it. I think it might feel nice.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Feuilly smiled softly. He wanted to be a good friend, encourage Bahorel, be his person to talk to.

“He’s a great man. Sometimes, he doesn’t think very highly of himself. His eyes are incredibly kind and warm. He is pure warmth, I’m telling you. I feel very safe around him. For the longest time I didn’t know what it was, this feeling. Everyone tells you how wrong it is. The law says it’s forbidden. It became clearer the more time I spent with him. I-I just wanted to be around him. All he time, whenever possible. I want to see his eyes shine when he takes a sip of tea and listens to my stories about my day. I want to listen to everything he has to say, no matter how insignificant he believes it might be. I want to be his safe space, where he can relax after work. Someone he knows is always there for him, no matter what. He doesn’t have an easy life but I want to make it a little easier. He is so beautiful. He is autumn, you know? So warm and full of surprises. He’s bright orange and a soft red. Warm afternoon sun and the glorious scent of fallen leaves.”

Feuilly hummed and squeezed Bahorel’s hand a little tighter. “That sounds lovely. You sound a little like Marius,” he teased. “Do you reckon he knows how you feel?”

“If he listened carefully…” Bahorel mumbled.

Next to him, Feuilly felt Bahorel tense. His friend’s hand slipped out of his but Feuilly quickly gripped it tighter.

“I think he listened,” Feuilly whispered.


End file.
